The gold leaf. [volume] (Henderson, N.C.) 1881-1911, 1887-03-17
SATURDAY NIGHT.
"A Time for Memory and for
Tears
The Last Act in the Drama of the
Week" The Curtain is Rung
Down, and the Closing Scene in
the Universal Matinee of
To-day is Ended"

Glorious Saturday night. One more
link welded to the chain of the past
another pittance Of space given to the
Golfers of eternity. Saturday night!
The border of another oasis of
rest upon the Great Sahara of
Saturday night-another mile
stone on our journey toward "that
bourne from whence no traveller re-
turns" Blessed Saturday night. How
grateful seem the nearing shadows of
the closing day. With what grand
repose the Sun sinks on his daily
round, beneath the crimson curtained
horizon. The curtain is rung down
upon the closing scene of the week.
0 what week it has been, you have
looked almost over the world-upon
scenes of peace and happiness; upon
scenes of war and woe. The scenes of
the short past week, which were SO
multifarious,' so varied, SO contradis-
tinct, that human expression fails in
the attempt to describe or delineate.
We gaze, and contemplate, only in the
emotional sense, and resolve it into
the kaleidoscope Of the soul.
Saturday night. How sweetly sung
by Burns? and dear old Prentice,
speaks of it, as he did of the enid
nights holy hour of the dying year,
s.Now is the time for memory and
for tears Swing open the portals of
the heart, and let its treasures of the
sweet, cu,led from the bitter past,
gently temper our reflections on that,
of what might have been. The heart
of Man is deeper than the sea. 1t
holds in it, how many wrecks-wrecks
of childish hopes and fond dreams
wrecks of school-boy dreams and no.
bic manly aspirations. Graves green
ed over with memories; the bones Of
many a broken love. What strange
fish do congregate in them, seen only
by one, and seen only at night. Star
ing with dull globular eyes, phosphor
escent with long remembered pain
The wave rolls on above. He smiles,
and talks and laughs. He is sunny as
a summer day, very pleasant fellow
and yet! Who can tell2 Wha
groans there may be, what shriekins
of the drowned; drowned dreams have
rushed up to his ears in the past
and the great wave of human sorrow
has dashed its brine over his eyes
How often do their ghosts pace tn
deck again and sit at the table in hi
bosom, with love look, SO long and 81
relentlesslv torn away. All, the hear
wells up, but We dash the unbiddel
tear aside, for we would,
"Ouick tear the sad illusions hence,
Illusions sad, indeed, yet dear)
Unroof each tender twining sense,
And freeze on PHYS cheek the tear"
Away down deep in the quiet husl
of some Saturday nights, we awak
4 with a strange sensation OF old time
1t is as yesterday, we romped on tn
old playground or firted with the ol
S love. 1t is the past that is real. Ih
f present is unreal and we arise and /
t the quiet of the Sabbath's morn, wal
| out looking on unfamiliar streets an
\ ways that were SO familiar, but ye
: terday. Have not the ghosts bee
e with US by night. Have they not rise
: from the deep sea of memory, an
: f1oated on the raft of dreams to th
shores of life again !? Have they NJ
!. feasted with our soul at night, viii
h we slept and made it rejoice in tt
h olden time,-rejoice until it comes IT
e luctlantly back to life and lool
l.. strangely on the world? Old seen
e are spread before our eyes; and o
:: friends and fashions have been with i
It We walk abroad however and no OF
d notices it. You are the same as "
d were Yesterday. No friend, not eve
" the wife who lay On your heart
As night, sees the change, but you; y
know your soul has been truant WI
,e the dear old days, and that you are n
u the same. You are more like WI
II YOU were ten and twenty years az
n Old thoughts and feelings are famill'
J.. more familiar than the books you ha
Id die daily, or the work at your har
or 1t is the waters of eternal youth tt
tn have dashed over you in the mldnls
he wave, and washed the years from u
ty heart.
wv A good Saturday hight to all. I
curtain is rung down-the last act
in the universal matinee of to-day
FIN ended, and the foot-lights OF the ct
nal beyond gleam from the dark b
curtain that hangs before US. Ge
he night, dear reader. May our last
he urday night be one of peace and v
ho come-so that when
les Iifes' page is to be sealed dear friend,
ad And we are summoned on high,
'eu Well be ready to yield, dear friend
To part with all without sigh.